


what are you doing new year's eve?

by nessismore



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday, Darcy/Steve Holiday Fic/Art Exchange, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, New Year's Eve, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessismore/pseuds/nessismore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ways Darcy Lewis Had Not Been Planning to Spend Her Birthday:</p><p>-Glaring at Everyone Who Forgot Her Birthday<br/>-Planning a New Year's Party<br/>-Dealing with Crazy Caterers<br/>-Fending off Amorous Ice Sculptors<br/>-Hanging out with Steve Rogers</p><p>Okay, so maybe that last one isn't so terrible. The rest, though? The rest of it <i>sucks</i>. And that's not even all of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what are you doing new year's eve?

**Author's Note:**

> For viewparadise, who prompted so many awesome prompts it took me about three years to pick one. But I went with this one:
> 
>  
> 
> _A Little Sixteen Candles, A Little Touch Me: Darcy's birthday is on December 31, and in the midst of the preparations for a huge party, she kind of gets lost in the fray. Mishaps and mayhem occur, but at the end of the night she's got someone to kiss at midnight._
> 
>  
> 
> It got a little bit (a lot a bit) away from me, but I hope you enjoy the final product!
> 
> Thanks as always to theladyscribe and sometimesyoufly for listening to me whine endlessly about which prompts I should write, to imogen_penn for looking this over, and to katertots for doing both those things, as well as holding my hand and cheering me on every step of the way. You are the bestest.

“It’s not a big deal,” she repeated to herself as she made her way down to the common room at Stark Tower. Everyone would probably be down there. It was just something that happened when there wasn’t anything world-saving or life-threatening going on. Apparently even villains took a holiday, because the last week or so had been blissfully peaceful. So they’d probably all be there, but Darcy told herself not to expect anything, that it wasn’t a big deal, and that since Darcy didn’t exactly go around announcing “THE 31ST OF DECEMBER IS MY BIRTHDAY” it would be ludicrous to expect anyone _to_ say anything.

Which…is exactly what happened.

Hell, she barely even got a “Hey, Darcy” from anyone in the room, which contained Pepper and Tony canoodling quietly in a corner, Jane and Bruce arguing science by the fridge, Clint and Thor exchanging war stories, and Steve sitting at the kitchen island slurping up cereal. Steve, being Steve, was the one who’d muttered the “Hey, Darcy.”

She stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for…well…anything. What she got was nothing, as people turned back to their conversations, or in Steve’s case, his cereal. It was a good thing she wasn’t holding her breath, really, because she’d have asphyxiated.

“It’s not a big deal,” she muttered to herself, even as a keen sense of disappointment overtook her. Because even if she hadn’t announced it and even if they’d only really _known_ her for a year, these were the freaking Avengers. They were supposed to know everything. And Jane should have known that it was Darcy’s birthday anyway, because Jesus, hadn’t Darcy spent the last three years of her life following Jane around the globe?

Disappointed with them, disgusted with herself, she poured herself a bowl of cereal and ate in mutinous silence, which seemed to only bother her. Everyone else was content to stay where they were, communing with each other—or their breakfast food—while Darcy stewed. Yeah, that helped her mood. Not. 

Not even the sight of Steve, in all his muscle-y glory, could lift her spirits. He tried to engage her in conversation once or twice, but she was so put out she might have been snippy with him. Which also didn’t help because being mean to Steve Rogers made her feel like she was kicking a puppy, and that, of course, made her feel even worse. 

“Lewis! I almost forgot!” Her head jerked up at the sound of Tony’s voice, shouting at her from across the room, and she tried not to feel pathetically eager. But here it was. Hopefully.

To mask her sense of anticipation, she scowled. “What do you want, Stark?”

“Party planner just quit.” The room seemed to go quiet. Oh, _now_ they paid attention to her.

Darcy blinked at him. Not what she’d wanted to hear. “And this is my problem why?”

“It’s everyone’s problem. No party planner, no New Year’s party.”

“New Year’s Party?”

“Really, Lewis? It’s the biggest party of the year. How could you forget?”

“My mind must be slipping in my old age,” she muttered crossly. It was probably passive aggressive of her, but she decided she was allowed to be crotchety when no one had bothered to greet her happy birthday—not her so-called best friend or even her parents, who _always_ called on her birthday. They were away on a cruise—her big sister’s attempt to one-up her for introducing their dad to Tony Stark for Christmas. Her dad practically _swooned_ ; it was almost embarrassing, but since he looked so damned happy, Darcy hadn’t said anything. 

Tony grinned at her. “Buck up, Lewis. I need help—“

“The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

“Cute. Original.” Tony disentangled himself from Pepper and plopped down in front of Darcy. “Since the party planner quit, I need someone to take over the preparations.” Darcy raised her eyebrows expectantly. “That would be you, Lewis.”

“Since when did you need a party planner? Aren’t you good at that kind of thing?”

“Pepper says that this year she wants something a little…classier.”

“Do I strike you as the classy type, Stark?”

“Of course you do,” Pepper interjected before Tony could answer. “I’m certain whatever you do _won’t_ involve body shots, table dancing, and strippers jumping out of cakes, which immediately makes you a better party planner than Tony.”

Well, Pepper had her there.

“Besides,” Pepper continued, “most everything is set in motion. All you’ve got to do is check up on details and make sure that all of the vendors know when everything is supposed to arrive. It shouldn’t even take half the day.”

When she put it that way…”Fine,” Darcy said with a sigh. Not what she’d wanted to do with her birthday, but at least it was better than moping around, waiting for someone to say something to her.

Pepper smiled widely. “Thanks Darcy. I’d have done it myself but I’ve got an emergency meeting to get to.” She pulled out her phone, tapped a few keys. “E-mailed the list of vendors we’re using today. Their addresses are in there, too. I hate to micromanage, but if you could just visit each one and _check_ …”

Darcy nodded, lips set in a frown. Everyone else lost interest in the conversation, resuming their previous breakfast time activities.

“How come when I ask, it’s all sass, sass, sass?” Tony grumbled. “But when Pepper asks, you don’t argue? I’m your boss. You’re supposed to do what I say.”

“I like her better than I like you,” Darcy muttered, picking up her phone. Scrolling through the list. Caterer, florist, bakery, ice sculptor—ice sculptor? Really?

Looking at the addresses, they were in completely different areas of town. Yeah, this was going to take more than half the day, Pepper Potts—you rotten liar. This birthday was gonna _suck_.

—

After breakfast, Darcy went back to her room to change, well aware that she was being unreasonably cranky—at least with everyone but Jane. Her parents were out of the country, she hadn’t even _told_ the Avengers it was her birthday, and Tony might be her boss, but the only birthdays he probably even thought about remembering were Pepper and Rhodey’s. Besides, this wasn’t the first time that her birthday had been swallowed up by the monster that was New Year’s Eve. When you were ushering out the old year and ringing in the new, it was easy, she supposed, to overlook when someone was turning another year older.

It was stupid to be upset about this, she decided, and she was just going to make this the best day ever. If she took extra care with her appearance, that was her business and nobody else’s. It was her birthday, and damn it, she was gonna look extra nice.

Her doorbell rang as Darcy put the finishing touches on her makeup. It was probably Tony, or maybe Pepper, remembering some other thing she needed to take care of for the stupid party.

It wasn’t either of them. It was Nat, and she had a neatly wrapped present in her hand, a smile on her face. “Happy birthday,” she said, extending the box towards Darcy.

Darcy promptly burst into tears.

Concerned, Natasha pushed her back into the apartment and closed the door behind them. She sat Darcy down on the couch and placed the present on the coffee table.

“What’s the matter, _golubushka_?” Natasha asked, handing Darcy a handful of tissues.

“Nothing,” Darcy sniffled, dabbing at her eyes. “You’re the only one who remembered.”

Natasha said nothing to offer comfort, just patted Darcy’s hand and handed her another tissue and waited for Darcy to stop crying. Which she did. Eventually.

“Now,” Natasha said briskly, picking up the present on the table. “I have something for you.”

Darcy grinned, ripping into the unflashy and perfectly wrapped paper. The box inside was anything but. Recognizing the logo of a lingerie boutique in the city that Darcy admired but could never actually afford even with what Tony paid her, she lifted the lid. 

Inside was the most gorgeous teddy she’d ever seen. It was blue and lush and utterly touchable. Her fingers stroked against the silky softness of it. It was, without a doubt, the most luxurious thing she’d ever touched. But it was as sheer as it was beautiful, and Darcy lifted it from its bed of tissue, holding it up, trying not to blush as she caught a glimpse of a matching thong. The teddy wasn’t the most scandalous she’d ever seen, was actually demure in comparison to some of the other things the store carried, but… “This…does not cover much.”

“That would be the purpose, yes.”

“Not that I’m scoffing at your gift in any way, shape, or form, but you know I don’t have anyone to wear this for?”

Natasha grinned. “Who says you have to wear it _for_ anyone?”

“Which is why you bought me something that hooks in the back,” Darcy said dyly. 

“What happened to the power of positive thinking?”

“I said that _once_ , and if I recall correctly, when I said it you threatened to decapitate me with a spoon. And it wasn’t a bluff.” Natasha never bluffed. Darcy looked down at the silk. It really was gorgeous, and even if it hadn’t been the only gift she’d received today, it’d still be among her favorites. She laid it across the box, admiring it once again. “Thanks, Nat. And I’ll be sure to tell you when I find a guy who’s worth showing it to.”

“Who knows, Darcy?” Natasha said with a mischievous smile. “Today might surprise you yet.”

—

Darcy walked down to the lobby with Natasha, griping about her list and trying to convince Nat to come with her on her errands. Natasha shook her head. Damn.

Darcy wasn’t looking forward to her errands; it would have been infinitely more fun—or at least less awful—with a friend in tow. Natasha seemed to know what she was thinking. It was just Steve’s bad luck—and hers—that he happened to be coming back from a mid-morning run right at that moment. 

“Steve will go with you,” Natasha said cheerfully.

No. No no no no no. Not happening. Natasha knew _exactly_ how Darcy felt about Steve, and as much fun as he was, Darcy was not going to spend the rest of the day alternating between moping about her birthday and making an idiot of herself in front of him.

Steve himself looked surprised. “Nat, I’ve got a few things to take care of before—“

Natasha ignored him. “Steve _will_ go with you. Just give him ten minutes to shower and change.”

Steve glared at Nat, which of course made feel Darcy soooo much better about her day. The Black Widow forcing Captain America to spend the day with her would just cap (zing) it all off. And Nat _would_ win.

And a few seconds later, she saw Steve’s shoulders sag in defeat. “Just give me ten, will you?”

Darcy waited until Steve disappeared towards the elevator before she pinched Nat on the arm. “Are you crazy? What are you _doing_?” 

“I like to call it helping out a friend,” Natasha said with a grin. “See you at the party.” Before Darcy could muster up a good well of outrage, she was gone. Damned spies.

Darcy could have probably just left right then—without Steve—but she’d already been mean to him once today, and no matter how reluctantly he was coming with her to get her party planner on, he didn’t deserve her pissiness twice in a day. Not yet, anyway.

So she sighed, checked her phone obsessively for new text messages or phone calls—nothing—and scrolled through Facebook. The impersonal “happy birthdays” posted by old elementary school friends made her feel slightly better, but there was nothing from anyone who really mattered to her at this point in her life. 

“You know, if you keep making that face, it’ll stay that way.” She looked up to see Steve, freshly showered and dressed, standing in front of her. She leaned in, catching a brief scent of the smell of his soap. Resisting the urge to _sniff_ the man, she turned on her heel and walked out the door and out to the car and driver Tony had arranged for her.

“So caterer first?” she asked as Steve fell into step beside her.

“Just lead the way.” Oh boy. At least she had her attraction to Steve to distract her from her birthday stuff.

Somehow that didn’t make her feel any better at all.

—

The caterer’s was a place called Gouda, which apparently specialized in gourmet finger foods. Darcy assumed that the cheese would be heavy on the menu, but as she perused the menu, there wasn’t a cheese plate in sight.

Steve seemed to notice the same thing. “Why the hell is this place called Gouda if they don’t have any cheese?”

“Because everything we serve is good…ah,” said a pinched-face man with a sweaty brow and pit stains on his chef jacket. Between that joke and the slovenly appearance, how was this man still in business? Maybe the food was mind blowing.

She shared a glance with Steve, whose eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline. His lips were compressed in a tight line, whether it was annoyance or an attempt to hold back laughter, she wasn’t sure. Although he was standing closer to Gouda Guy than she was, so maybe the dude smelled funny.

“I’m Maurice, head chef at Gouda.” He extended a hand and took a step closer to her. Darcy held her breath and shot a glance at Maurice’s sweaty brow before taking his hand. It was damp, and she tried not to cringe.

“I’m Darcy,” she said, and nodded towards Steve. “That’s Steve. Miss Potts sent us over—“

“Ah, yes!” And suddenly the obsequiousness was turned up to eleven. “Why don’t you come back with me. Miss Potts called ahead and explained the…departure of Miss Anderson, your party planner. She said you’d like to taste everything we’re preparing tonight, to ensure it’s up to her impeccable standards?” 

“If that’s what she said, that’s what we’re here to do,” Darcy said bravely. After taking a glimpse at the menu—which included bacon-wrapped fruitcake—she was a little apprehensive. 

The bacon-wrapped fruitcake slices _were_ one of the things on the menu for the night. She and Steve exchanged glances as Maurice offered them both one.

“You first, Steve,” Darcy said brightly. He shot her a glare, but really, going first is the least he could do, because this day was definitely not a birthday to remember. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know that, she was _not_ putting this thing in her mouth first.

“Oh, but I couldn’t take the pleasure of the first bite away from you,” Steve said. He gave her a forced smile, the kind he’d used in all of the propaganda materials, both back in his day and in promotional Captain America events now.

“No, no, no. I insist. Please.” There was more upset in the last “please” than she’d wanted to reveal, but it was probably that that did it. Darcy watched closely as he sighed and popped the bacon-wrapped fruitcake in his mouth. She studied his expression, but he kept it carefully impassive. She watched as he chewed, seeming to analyze the flavors, before he swallowed.

“Well?” Darcy prompted when it looked like he was going to say anything.

“Not bad,” Steve said finally.

“Okay.” Darcy took a deep breath, then took a discreet little nibble of the hors d’oeuvre.

Steve was right. It wasn’t bad.

It was _terrible._

She’d always been of the mindset that bacon went with _anything_ , but alas, that illusion had been Hulk-smashed to smithereens today. This—there was no saving this dish. She turned her death stare on Steve.

Mischief danced in his eyes. It was infuriating, and Darcy couldn’t even threaten him. There was no way she was opening her mouth with this thing still in it, because if she did, there wouldn’t be any force on Earth that could keep her from spitting it out. She settled for glaring, and discreetly pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. That only made his smile widen.

“The fruit cake was soaked in eggnog and seasoned with a secret mixture of spices,” Maurice said confidentially. He sounded so proud of himself that Darcy couldn’t spit the fruitcake out right in front of him. She had no choice. She had to swallow it.

It took herculean effort, but she did it.

“Can I have some water, please?” she asked, the taste of eggnogg-y bacon fruitcake lingering in her mouth. “I need to cleanse my palate.”

Two glasses of water later, she could _still_ taste it, but they didn’t have all day.

He put another _amuse bouche_ in front of them, and Darcy eyed it skeptically. “Does this have shellfish in it? I’m allergic.”

“Of course not,” Maurice assured her. She put the bit to her mouth when he continued, “It’s only prawns.”

She was going to kill the man. She was ready to walk out right then, but Steve patted her arm reassuringly, took a bite, and proclaimed it far superior to the fruitcake. Since he knew Darcy couldn’t actually _eat_ the prawns, this time Darcy decided to take his word for it. Upon hearing that Gouda could, in fact, make something edible, Darcy reluctantly tried the rest of the menu. Well, that, and she didn’t want to scramble to find a new caterer at the last minute.

The bacon-wrapped fruitcake was the worst of it, and while there were two or three other misses, most of the things Maurice put in front of them was decent. Hell, half of it was actually tasty. There were a few tweaks to the menu, but there was no need to fire Maurice and his cheese-less catering company.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Steve said happily, munching on one of the handful of samples Maurice had given them to take home. 

Darcy nodded in agreement. Despite the taste of bacon-wrapped fruitcake seared forever into her tongue, it hadn’t been bad at all. She could only hope the other visits went half as smoothly.

—

It took half an hour to get to the florist’s, a quaint little shop called Blooming Mad. The proprietor, a cheerful little old lady named Thistle Downs (and really, Darcy couldn’t make this shit up), was cleaner and friendlier than crazy old Maurice. Her product was a little less alarming, as well. The centerpieces, floral sprays, and garlands she’d designed in a silver and icy blue theme were pretty and tasteful, if a bit on the boring side.

“They’re great,” Darcy said cheerfully, grateful that something could be checked off her list without hassle. “They need to be at Stark Tower in seven hours—“

“I don’t know,” Steve interrupted, studying the flowers critically. “They’re a little uninspired, don’t you think? Maybe a little too old-fashioned.”

Darcy gaped in surprise. It was completely unlike Steve to be so blatantly rude, but Thistle didn’t seem to be offended. Then again, she’d seen some of his drawings. He had some kind of artistic eye, so maybe this was constructive criticism.

Whatever it was, it was keeping her from checking “florist” off the list, leaving her further from her ultimate goal of curling up on her couch with a pint or ten of ice cream before she had to go to the party.

She surreptitiously checked her phone. Still no call from her parents. Maybe she’d call them. She had their contact information for the ship, and really, it would just be nice to hear their voices, but that would have to wait until she got home. And she couldn’t _do_ that until all the errands on her list were done. She did _not_ need Steve prolonging this.

“Steve, the flowers are great. Let’s just get a move on—“

“But the colors are all wrong.” Her eyes shot to his face. He was serious, studying the sample floral arrangement sitting on the table. Thistle stood by his side, her face equally solemn. This did not bode well.

“The colors are entirely appropriate for winter and New Year’s. Let’s just go.”

“No,” Thistle said, shaking her head sadly. “He’s right. The colors are completely wrong. It’s all so _passé_. I’ll have to redo them.”

“You don’t. You really, really don’t. The colors are fine—“

Thistle pursed her lips, looking like a put upon grandmother. “But my dear, they must not be fine. They must be _perfect_.”

Darcy shook her head, checking the clock. One o’clock. Party started at 10:00pm. She needed to make sure they got all of this stuff _before_ the party. There was no telling how long it’d take to make new ones. “No, no, no. They’re fantastic. Fabulous. Sans flaws.”

“Except for the color, and the way they look like they would have back in my…grandmother’s day.”

“It’s timeless, Steve.”

“It’s old, Darcy.”

“You’re old, Steve.” God, was that the best she could come up with? Smooth, Darcy. Real smooth.

He blinked at her, lips twitching. Oh no, he was not going to start laughing at her. She sent him a death glare, and he turned away, no doubt to start snickering. The jerk. The really, really hot jerk.

Yeah, no. She was not going down _that_ road. Especially not today of all days. “Listen, Mrs. Downs, the flowers are perfectly lovely and the colors are great.”

“But the ice-blue and silver are so…2013. You need something new, something _fresh_ , something that says ‘Hello, 2014, I’m here and I’m ready for you!’” Thistle’s hand brushed an arc across the sky, and staring off into space as if the vision of the perfect 2014-ready flower arrangement shimmering before her.

All Darcy saw was the sky. “Okaaay. While a 2014-friendly flower arrangement _would_ be lovely, we’re on a deadline here and what you’ve given us is so beautiful—“

“Oh!” Thistle interrupted. Darcy held in a growl of frustration. Would she never be allowed to finish a goddamn sentence? But Thistle clasped her hands together in grandmotherly enthusiasm. “If you show me the flowers you like, I can make samples for you right away and have everything ready by tonight. I promise.”

“Oh, we couldn’t ask—“

Thistle interrupted. Again. “Oh, no, my dear, I must insist. If I present these bland flower arrangements for your party, my business will be ruined!”

Darcy was beginning to understand where the “mad” part came in in Blooming Mad, because she was not following this line of logic at all. The flowers were fine. They were the opposite of hideous. Sure they were boring, but it wasn’t going to ruin a business.

“Pepper—“

“Has complete faith in you,” Steve interjected, and there he was, being warm and supportive and _nice_ even though she wanted to kick him in the shin. If he’d just gone along with the stupid flowers… “You know she trusts you and your taste in all things, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked you.”

Darcy knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she wasn’t going to give in gracefully. “Tony asked me.”

“Trust me, if Pepper didn’t want you planning this party, you wouldn’t be.” Steve grinned at her, and swarm of butterflies took flight in the pit of Darcy’s stomach.

With a sigh, Darcy gave up. “If you have anything in deep blues or purples, I think that would be lovely.”

Thistle ran off to gather flowers, and Darcy glowered up at Steve. “I am so not happy with you right now.”

He didn’t look to concerned, a smile flirting on his lips. “Is it because of the fruitcake? Or the flowers?”

“Both,” Darcy said after a moment. “Yeah, definitely both.”

She checked her phone one more time, feeling the minutes slipping away, any chance of spending her birthday doing something, _anything_ she wanted to do slipping away with it.

“It’ll be okay, Darcy,” Steve said seriously, rubbing a big hand over her shoulder reassuringly. It sent tingles racing down her spine. 

“It won’t be okay. We’ve placed our faith in a sweaty chef who thought bacon and fruitcake was a good combination, we currently have no flowers because you decided to play floral critic, and we haven’t even seen what the ice sculptor or the baker have in store for us. Don’t you tell me it’ll be okay.”

She ended her tirade with a foot stomp, and wasn’t that humiliating? It was like she was four instead of twenty-four. Twenty-five. Damn it, even she was forgetting her birthday now.

Steve wisely said nothing to try to reassure her. Instead he pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back soothingly.

“I’m still mad at you,” she grumbled. Steve laughed, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. Okay, this part of the day definitely did not suck.

It took an hour for Thistle to gather the flowers she wanted to show Darcy and Steve, but she found some lovely dark-hued blooms, substituting them for the ice blue flowers in one of the current arrangements. Darcy had to admit the play on the dark petals and silver ribbon was better. She only hoped Thistle could finish everything on time. And she hoped like hell that she could make up for lost time on the visit to the ice sculptor.

—

“No,” she said staring up at the completed ice sculpture in horror. She was so shocked by the sculpture that stood before her, she forgot to shiver. That was saying something, since the freezer in which Antonio Lucci kept his sculptures was…well…freezing. It was just too bad that it wasn’t warm enough in there to melt the monstrosity in front of her. “No,” she said again. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you not like it?” the sculptor, Antonio, asked, his voice thick with a fake Italian accent. Darcy looked at him like he was nuts. Hot as he might be—and Antonio Lucci was very, very hot—he had to be crazy to have carved a ten-foot replica of Tony Stark’s face in ice.

“Mr. Stark insisted,” Antonio said, and Darcy had no trouble imagining why the original party planner might have quit. If she had to find somewhere to put this… “Do you not like it?”

Darcy looked to Steve, at a loss for words. All she could do was look at the ice sculpture in horror. Handsome as Tony was, as beautifully crafted as the block of ice was, there was no way she wanted that in any building that also contained _her_. Mr. Lucci was definitely talented. She just wished that he’d put his talents to better use. And she also wished that he’d stop staring at her.

This was not good, and she felt a headache coming on. There wasn’t time to deal with this shit.

“Well?” Antonio prompted, when both Darcy and Steve remained at a loss for words. “What do you think of my masterpiece?”

“It’s…cool,” Steve said, and Darcy looked up at him in surprise, snickering all the while. 

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Darcy added, because it was true. Tony might be her boss, but she rarely saw his face at quite this scale. Thank God. “It…” was creepy as hell? Would frighten small children? Should be pushed into a volcano? “It shows off your remarkable skill, Mr. Lucci, but it doesn’t quite fit the feel we’re going for tonight. We’ll pay you for your work, of course, but do you have anything else we might look at?”

“Ahh, cara mia—” He moved so swiftly, she wasn’t quite sure how he got hold of her hand, but he was dropped a slobbery kiss on it before she could tug it away “—for you, I would bring down the stars from the heavens.”

“Er…” She resisted the urge to knee him in the balls to get her hand back, pulling delicately instead. It wouldn’t do to injure the man when she needed something from him. The delicate pulling wasn’t successful. “That won’t be necessary. I just need another sculpture. One that isn’t Tony Stark, if that’s at all possible?”

“Anything you need, bella,” Antonio promised. “Just say the word.”

“How about my hand back, could I get that?” she snapped. The only seemed to make his interest keener, and his fingers tightened on hers. Yeah, knee to the family jewels was imminent. Of course. Of course the first time in months that a hot dude was interested in her, he was both smarmy and not Steve. Both were requirements for entry into her pants.

Speaking of…Steve was all bristly beside her, and while on most occasions she could deal with guys like Antonio, she didn’t mind help when help was offered. And Steve was big, gorgeous, pissed off help. When Antonio didn’t let go of her hand, Steve looked mad enough to deck the guy. Which Darcy wouldn’t mind in the least. Under the direct impact of Steve’s version of a death glare, Antonio released her fingers. Good.

“So have you got anything we can look at?”

“Oh, cara, I have many things that I would love to show you.”

“Do we actually need an ice sculpture?” Steve murmured in her ear.

The way Antonio was looking at her, she was inclined to agree. Not out loud, though, because she was still mad at him.

“I mean a sculpture, Mr. Lucci,” she said irritably.

“If you are looking for something hard and beautiful, look no further.”

Darcy opened her mouth to blast him for the innuendo when Antonio swept his arm around the freezer, to the other ice sculptures lining the back wall. “Are all of these available?”

“Anything for you.” Darcy wanted to kick him. Hard. She grabbed Steve’s hand, keeping it clasped tight in hers and using him as a buffer between her and Antonio as they looked over Antonio’s work. Steve was happy to buff.

Steve let Darcy pick, saying nothing as they looked over the vast array of ice sculptures. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he just grinned and said, “Choice is all yours.”

She wasn’t going to argue—for a moment she let herself think of it as being able to pick out a birthday present, and she was actually kind of excited about it. In the end, she picked out an exquisitely delicate ballerina in mid-leap. “Have it delivered to Stark Tower at nine o’clock,” she ordered, all business. “Mr. Stark will settle your bill.”

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” Antonio demanded, accent slipping. She was pretty sure she heard Jersey peeking through the fake.

“Stick it in a punch bowl for all I care,” Darcy said testily, uncomfortable as Antonio stared at her.  “Let’s go, Steve.”

“Wait. _Cara_. Your form…it is exquisite.” She was pretty sure she heard Steve mutter something about a bastard with good taste, but she couldn’t concentrate on that because Antonio had her hand again. “Would you permit me to sculpt you? You would be my masterpiece.”

Right. She’d just bet. “Sorry, Mr. Lucci, we’re on a schedule.”

“What about another day?”

“I’m always on a schedule. If you’ll excuse me?” She didn’t wait, sweeping ahead of them to the front door, Steve and Antonio in her wake.

“If you change your mind, _cara_ ,” Antonio said, and she could practically feel him undressing her with his eyes. Gross. “You know where to find me.”

“You could try holding your breath.” Darcy was surprised that hadn’t come from her mouth, but from Steve’s. He still looked menacing, which is just what she needed.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Darcy said, smiling brightly. 

“I will walk you to the door.” There was no point in not letting him, so she shrugged and kept going. He opened the door for her and Steve, swept them an elegant bow. “Your servant, _cara mia_.”

Yeah, no. She followed Steve out, nodding tersely at Antonio, and that’s when she felt it. A hand. On her bottom.

Oh God. Antonio pinched her ass. Darcy froze, stiffening in anger. Steve stopped, too, looking at her curiously.

“Congratulations, Steve,” she said mildly. “You’re officially not at the top of my shitlist anymore.”

A grin stole over Steve’s face. “I’m not?”

“Nope.” She whirled around to face the smirking Antonio and planted a fist in his face. Dude went down like a tree, sprawled on the front step, moaning and cradling his jaw. She drew back to kick him when Steve pulled her away and slung an arm around her shoulders. She looked up to see him smiling.

“Lemme see your hand,” he said imperiously. Darcy didn’t even mind because Steve’s fingers were running over hers. She was going to bruise, she knew, but it didn’t feel like anything was broken.

“I’m fine,” Darcy grumbled. She flicked a dismissive disgust at Antonio; you’d think she’d unmanned him, the way he was carrying on instead of just hitting him in the jaw. 

Steve didn’t drop her hand right away, the warmth of his fingers welcome in the afternoon chill. His hand lingered over hers, and her brain battled between the anger Antonio brought out in her and the flutter-inducing nearness of Steve. Antonio moaned again; anger won out. The idiot was ruining a moment.

Darcy sneered in his general direction. “I didn’t even hit him that hard. Guy’s got a glass jaw.” She grabbed Steve’s hand, tugging him away before she did more damage.

“Well,” Steve said cheerfully, happy to be towed along.  “We didn’t need an ice sculpture anyway.”

“Damn right.” 

—

On their way to the baker, Jane called. Darcy’s mood picked up when she heard Jane’s, “Oh God, Darcy, I can’t believe I forgot.”

“I forgi—“ Darcy started to say, but Jane bulldozed right over her.

“Thor is a big fan of chocolate cake, and I don’t know what Pepper’s party planner ordered, but could you pick something chocolate out for him?”

Darcy blinked, the bubbling of gratitude popping as Jane’s words registered. “What?”

“If there’s no chocolate cake for the party, can you pick some up for Thor?”

“Any particular _occasion_ for this cake, Jane?” 

“Just because he’s great,” Jane answered absently. She was probably in her lab, poking and prodding at the laws of physics, forgetting everything but science and Thor. Clearly she hadn’t remembered her supposed best friend’s birthday, as she blithely went on, “and he likes chocolate. Have you made it to the bakery yet? What time do you think you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said, which drew a surprised glance from Steve. Probably because her tone was more cross than he the situation actually warranted. Whatever. He didn’t know her life. He didn’t even know it was her stupid birthday. “I gotta go. I’ll call you when I…” she bit off on the word _remember._ She didn’t want to be _that_ passive aggressive. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”

“Darc—“ Darcy hung up the phone. She and Steve sat in strained silence the rest of the way, leaving Darcy alone in her head to dwell on the stinging that lingered in her hand and the hurt that had been simmering all day. The hurt was the worst of it; it was never a feeling Darcy dealt well with, so she channeled it to something she _could_ handle: anger.

She was angry at her parents, she was angry at her friends—except Natasha—she was angry at Antonio…and the list went on and on until they finally pulled to a stop in front of the bakery.

Which quickly jumped into first place on the list of things she was really pissed off at.

“What do you mean you don’t have an order for us?”

A woman had taken them back to the kitchen to see the owner, Monica, probably to avoid a public scene like the one Darcy sure as hell was gonna throw in T-minus five seconds. Monica raised her hands apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Miss Lewis, there must have been some mix-up—“

Darcy shook her head in disbelief. “Someone offers to pay a shitton of money to feed 100 people, and you _lose_ the order?”

“Darcy.” Steve placed a hand on her arm, probably to hold her back from doing something that she’d regret—or something that would get her arrested. “We can work with this.”

“Mr. Rogers is right, ma’am,” Monica said resolutely. “Just let us know what you’d like and you will be our top priority today, you have my word.”

Like he could hear the angry retort on the tip of Darcy’s tongue, Steve squeezed her arm. Hard. He answered for her. Just as well, since Darcy was probably too mad to form a coherent sentence. “Nothing too fancy, I guess. Just something tall and pretty for the cake we’re showing off—“

“And sparkly,” Darcy managed to bite out. Steve shifted his arm so that it was around her shoulders, and he squeezed her close to him in approval.

“That’s right,” he said carefully, as if he was afraid she was going to snap at any moment and rip the baker’s face off. “Sparkly. And we’ve got some flower arrangements that have got some midnight blue and silver, so if you could work with that…”

“We’ll come up with something perfect,” Monica assured her. “Now what flavors of cake would you like?”

“What flavors do you have?” Steve asked, and Darcy sank into him, not caring as he took over. “You listening, Darcy?” he asked when Monica was finished talking. “What flavors sound good to you, sweetheart?”

“Espresso,” Darcy mumbled, because she _had_ been listening and it _did_ sound good.

Steve nodded. “Okay, so we’ll do Espresso and we can pick one other flavor for the other half of the guests. What about the coconut?” Darcy sneered. Steve nodded sagely and continued talking to her like she was a pouting toddler. “Yeah, I didn’t think so either. How about the black and white? That way people don’t have to choose between the chocolate and the white cake.” Since Darcy offered up no objections—or protests, for that matter—they decided to go with the black and white.

When she did finally speak again, it was to say, “I honestly don’t know you’re going to get this done in five and half hours.”

“We’ll get it done,” Monica vowed. “Once the party starts, you’ll love it.”

Darcy had her doubts, but there was no point in voicing them at this point. Steve wouldn’t let her be rude. Monica was young and pretty—maybe he was attracted to her and that’s why he was being so helpful all of a sudden. Well _that_ was something Darcy wasn’t particularly interested in finding out. “Can I use your restroom?”

“Absolutely!” Monica said brightly. She gave Darcy directions to the restroom, which was really just across the kitchen from where they were. It should have been a fairly uneventful trip. But of course it was just bad luck—or maybe just Darcy’s luck—that had her passing a man with a tray full of cake batter, on his way to one of the ovens. 

She wasn’t quite sure how it happened.  All she knew was that she was minding her own business when suddenly she heard Steve shout, “Watch out!” 

She looked up in time to see the man with the tray. His feet slid from under him, and everything that was in the tray splashed on Darcy. She was covered, head to toe in sticky, pink, goo, and she felt a little like Carrie on prom night. Because she wanted to _kill_ somebody.  It was too much. All of it. Instead of resorting to murder, she flicked cake batter off of her glasses and ran to where the car was waiting. She was halfway back to the Tower when she realized she forgot Steve.

Remorse stabbed, but Darcy fought it down. He could take a cab back.

She rushed through the lobby, looking like the female equivalent of the creature from the black lagoon. People stared. What did she care anymore? Fuck dignity.

“Darcy!” It was Jane, rushing through the lobby after her, keeping pace as Darcy hurried to the elevators. “What happened to you? You look awful!”

Well fuck her, too. She ran into the elevator with its doors open and slammed down on the “close door” button. She took petty and childish pleasure in watching the doors close in Jane’s face.

—

It took two shampoos to get cake batter out of her hair, a third to make her feel human. It wasn’t until she shut off the shower that she registered the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Thinking it was Jane, Darcy wrapped a towel around herself and threw open the door, intending to give Jane a piece of her mind.

It wasn’t Jane.

Steve stood in the doorway, looking worried. He stared. She stared. And when the concern melted off his face for just a moment, when Steve’s eyes roamed from her dripping hair to her cold, wet, toes,  she was very, _very_ conscious of the fact that underneath the towel she was completely naked. And that Steve knew she was naked, too.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. “You’ve seemed a little…stressed out today.”

She shrugged, letting him into her apartment because telling him to go away felt mean. Lord knew he’d seen plenty of her mean side today, and he didn’t deserve any of it. Well, no. She thought of the bacon fruitcake incident and decided he deserved some mean for that one. But the rest of it…that was not his fault. “Today has been stressful.”

“You wanna talk about it?” he offered. 

“Not in a towel, I don’t.”

“So lose the towel.” Darcy snickered as she watched a pink flush creep up over Steve’s neck, waiting for him to backtrack, but he didn’t. 

Darcy laughed, and for the first time that day, she didn’t feel like killing someone. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”

“Happy to be of service,” he said with a grin. And Lord, if that didn’t get her thinking of other ways he could service her… “But if you want to talk about what’s bothering you, or if there’s anything I can do to cheer you up—“

“I was gonna curl up on the couch and watch movies in my sweatpants tonight. You could join me. If you want.” She hurried into her bedroom after issuing the offer. If he said no, or if he laughed, then at least it wouldn’t be in her face. “I’ll be right back.”

“I hate to say no to that, but I have to,” Steve called after her. Disappointment coursed through her, until he added, “We’ve got the party tonight. Maybe tomorrow we could—“

“I’m not going to the party,” she shouted back. Quite firmly. She rummaged in her drawers for underwear, skipping over her comfiest granny panties to something silky and lacy. She wasn’t even going to pretend it had nothing to do with the fact that Steve was sitting in her living room right this instant.

He, apparently, had his heart set on going to the party. “But you planned it!”

Like she could forget. “Which is why I’m not going. The whole party planning thing wiped me out.” She kept the towel wrapped around herself and threw open her closet, trying to figure out what she wanted to wear. 

“We wouldn’t have to stay long,” he continued in earnest.

That made Darcy pause, a happy little flutter stirring up in her belly. “We?”

“I was thinking we could go together. You and me. Stay for however long you want.”

“That’s…really tempting, actually.” He had no idea how tempted she was. But it didn’t change her mind. The idea of going to the party, of watching some of Tony’s female friends fawn all over Steve, was not appealing in the slightest. So she said, “I’m beat, I’ve had the day from hell, and I just want to relax.”

“You have to go.” He almost sounded pleading, and Darcy wondered what the big deal about this stupid party was, anyway. “Before you say no, I should tell you—and they’re gonna kill me for saying this—“

“Who’s gonna kill you for saying what?” It was clear he was set on going. He obviously didn’t find her hard on the eyes, so maybe she could tempt him to stay with something a little more revealing…too bad she’d left Nat’s present outside.

“They—what’s this?”

Darcy poked her head out of her bedroom in confusion. “They’re gonna kill you for saying ‘what’s this?’”

He turned to look at her, his eyes a little unfocused as he held up Natasha’s gift to her. “This.”

Oh wow. Seeing the soft silk in Steve’s hands did things to her, and she felt tongue-tied and all sorts of hot and bothered, because she definitely wanted to know what Steve’s hands would feel like on her while she was wearing _that_.

“It was a gift. From Nat. It’s my birthday,” she blurted out. Steve nodded, standing up, the silk still in his hands. For some reason, she couldn’t get her mouth to _stop moving._ “You look kind of stunned. People have birthdays all the time. This is my twenty-fifth one, actually, but I guess this is the first time anyone’s given me anything like that. Not that I’ve got anyone to see it, and why the hell aren’t you saying anything?”

“The thought of you. In this.” That was it. That was all he said. But he was looking at her with burning intensity.

Her hands tightened defensively on the knot holding the towel around her. “I wouldn’t be hideous.” Even though she knew that wasn’t what he meant at all.

He shook his head slowly. “No. No you wouldn’t be.”

He opened his hands. The silk slithered to the floor soundlessly.

Darcy dropped the towel.

Looking back, she couldn’t tell you who made the first move. All she knew was that she was naked and in his arms, and his mouth was on hers. He literally swept her off her feet, carrying her into the bedroom and laying her reverently down on the bed, all while his mouth remained eagerly on hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth to tangle with hers.

The man could kiss, that much was for sure.

By mutual accord, they both pulled back for air.

“What are we doing here, Steve?” she asked breathlessly.

He rested his forehead against hers, stroked his fingers through her still wet hair. “Whatever you want, Darcy. It’s your birthday.”

“Happy birthday to me,” she murmured, bringing Steve back down for another kiss. Then Steve’s hands were on her already naked body, and her hands were on Steve trying to get _him_ naked, too.

The first time was hurried, rushed, hungry, awkward—it was like he’d wanted her for about as long as she’d him and they couldn’t stop, couldn’t wait. And as she came apart in his arms, she felt his lips brush against the rapidly skittering pulse at her neck.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered.

Damned if this wasn’t just the most perfect birthday gift ever.

—

“Where are they?” Pepper demanded, checking her watch for the fiftieth time. She was great at plans, and this one was supposed to be fool-proof. “They were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Darcy’s not picking up,” Jane said worriedly, hanging up her phone. It was the third time she’d tried to call. “Maybe someone else should try? She’s not happy with me so maybe she’s ignoring my calls.”

“I tried Steve’s phone,” Rhodey said, handing Pepper a glass of wine. “No answer.”

Tony downed his own wine glass, eyes flicking towards the entrance one more time. “Damn it, Rogers. He had _one job_.”

This from Clint, who looked bored by the proceedings. “When was the last time anyone saw either one of them?”

Jane bit her lip guiltily. “I saw her earlier this afternoon. Maybe around three? She was really upset. Maybe she isn’t coming.”

“Well that settles it. When can we get this show on the road?” Clint held his hands up defensively when Pepper and Jane glared. “What, you just said they weren’t coming.”

Natasha, who had been silent to this point, smiled and took a sip of her wine. “Well, I wouldn’t say _that_. Not if he’s doing it right, anyway.”

It took a moment for everyone to catch on, but then Clint and Tony snickered. So did Rhodey, even though he tried to hide it.

Pepper, however, was less than pleased. “Natasha Romanoff, what have you done?”

—

“That’s it,” Darcy said weakly, tugging at Steve’s hair. “Stop. You’ve killed me.” 

“You sure?” Steve asked, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. “I could do this all day.”

God, she was sure he could. They’d been in bed for hours—for some of the best orgasmic hours of her life, she’d have to say—but if he didn’t stop, they really were going to find out if death-by-orgasm was actually possible. “No. Get up here, soldier.”

This time when she tugged, he followed, settling his big, warm body next to hers. He slung an arm around her waist and she snuggled into him. They’d done a lot of this in the last few hours, too, and between this and the sex, she couldn’t decide which was the best part. 

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand, saw it was 12:15. Looks like they’d missed the countdown. Not that she was going to complain about that. She nuzzled against him and brushed a kiss on his collarbone. “Happy New Year.”

His fingers whispered over her back, heightening the lazy drowsiness overtaking her. “Happy New Y—Shit.“

Well that pulled her out of conjugal bliss mode.

“What?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. We have to go.” He extricated himself from her and rolled out of bed.

“Go? I can barely _move_.” She sent him a pointed glare. “Your fault, you know.”

A smile flickered across his face. “Yeah. I know.” His face once again turned serious. “But we have to get a move on. Come on. Where’s the dress you were going to wear for the party?”

Darcy levered herself up to see him better as he hurriedly pulled his clothes on. “The party? You’re still there?”

“Yeah. We gotta go. I promised I’d get you there.” That was all the explanation he’d give her as he pulled his phone out of his pocket then cursed again. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. We have to get dressed.”

She sighed, flopped back in bed. “It’s that important to you?”

“It really is.”

“Fine, we’ll go. Although let me state for the record that there are several far more interesting things we could do instead of this party.”

He leaned over her, grinning. “Duly noted.” He kissed her, hard, quick, and entirely unsatisfying. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

She was mostly ready by the time he came back. Well, her dress and shoes were on, and she had minimal makeup, but her hair…well it made it pretty clear what she’d been doing for the last several hours. There wasn’t time to do much of anything with it, though, because Steve was dragging her down the hall.

“It’s after midnight,” she groused as they approached the doors leading to the party. “You know we’ve missed all of the exciting things already. I can’t even hear anybody in—“

“SURPRISE!”

She would have stumbled back if Steve hadn’t been beside her, steadying her. Darcy’s jaw dropped. It took her a moment to realize that everyone was looking at her. And that “everyone” was not Tony’s usual set, unless her friends from Culver and Stark Industries, her sister, and even her _parents_ had somehow become Tony’s type. Oh God. This was for _her_.

As if to drive the point home, Jane, Thor, Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, and Rhodey stood in the front of the room, holding a sign that read, “Happy Birthday, Darcy.”

“Just so you know,” Steve whispered, “this was all Jane’s idea.” Darcy felt tears welling up in her eyes, and guilt for being so mad at her friend when she’d been planning _this_. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Happy birthday.” He nudged her forward, and then she was in front of Jane, hugging her tight. 

“I’m sorry I hated you for like, 15 hours.”

Jane smiled teary-eyed. “I’m sorry you hated me, too.” And then, biting her lip guiltily, she added, “Although I might have forgotten if Steve hadn’t reminded me. I’d point out that he likes you, but I’m pretty sure you’ve figured that part out.”

Darcy glanced back at Steve, who was chatting with Natasha. He smiled at Darcy and waved. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. Thanks, Jane. You’re the best.”

After that, Darcy was swept away by well-wishers, exchanging hugs and presents with everyone who’d made it. She only blushed a little when Janice, her roommate from Culver, mentioned that everyone had been waiting for _hours_ for them to show up, then had looked pointedly at Darcy’s sex hair. But when Janice had given her stamp of approval and asked if Steve had any brothers, Darcy decided to wear the sex hair with pride.

Except when it came to her parents. Steve had made his way back to her side by the time she’d caught up with her mom and dad, and _they_ definitely knew what she’d been doing, too. Her dad had glared at Steve for all of ten seconds before Steve won them over by being his charming, occasionally smartass, self. Even her sister, Georgie, who viewed everything as a competition, couldn’t say anything bad about Steve. Ha. Try to one up _that_. 

That night she got a little tipsy, danced the night away, and when her energy started to flag, Steve pulled her out onto the balcony, cake in hand. Since they’d cut the cake without her (she couldn’t complain because blowing Steve was infinitely more fun than blowing out candles), Steve pulled out a tiny birthday candle and a lighter. 

“Happy birthday, Darcy,” he said quietly, holding the piece of cake between them. “Make a wish.”

Darcy took the plate and placed it on the balcony rail, and leaned into Steve. “It already came true.”

**Author's Note:**

> The ending scene is an homage to "Sixteen Candles." I'm still not quite sure how that ended up being the only overt reference to the film, all things considered.


End file.
